Whatever You Choose
by Lady-of-the-Refrigerator
Summary: Liz leaned back against building with her head in her hand and struggled desperately to resist the urge to smash her phone on the sidewalk and grind it to dust under her feet. [Sequel to Whatever You Need]
1. Sam Milhoan - Prologue

AN: This story deals with certain canon events with a post-_Whatever You Need_ twist, i.e., Red and Liz are already in a romantic relationship and Tom is out of the picture. I'm going to be following canon as closely as possible with those differences in mind. (For example, you don't have to worry about Red going off to kill Sam behind Liz's back, but he will still die, etc.) Most of the Sam section is already written, so hopefully it won't take terribly long between chapters until I reach the next section.

* * *

Sam Milhoan - Prologue

Liz leaned back against building with her head in her hand and struggled desperately to resist the urge to smash her phone on the sidewalk and grind it to dust under her feet. Every little thing bothered her—the way the fabric of her jacket caught on the concrete as she moved, the glare of the sunlight reflecting off the hospital windows, even the buzzing of her cell phone triggered a mixture of anger and dread so severe her heart rate sped up every time it went off.

No good could come from a phone call right now. It was either the hospital with test results—or worse—or the FBI trying not-so-subtly to guilt her into returning to DC as soon as possible.

Now that her father had fallen ill, keeping her relationship with Red a secret had become quite a juggling act; in only a couple weeks, they'd settled into a comfortable routine, but she was finding it difficult to keep all the balls in the air here at the hospital. She agreed to let Red fly her to Nebraska without so much as a second thought because she knew if she didn't, she'd get caught up in the hunt for Nathaniel Wolfe and wouldn't be able to get away.

Cooper was none too pleased with Liz's disappearing act; she had been fielding calls from him and Ressler whenever she left her father's bedside long enough to turn her phone on. Neither of them outright accused her of going with Red, but the window of opportunity she would have had to get on a commercial flight before they were grounded was so small, she couldn't imagine they didn't at least suspect it.

She wondered if they were angling around to asking her, or if they hoped she would let it slip by accident the longer they kept her on the phone. She had half a mind to ask Red for a burner phone so the hospital could contact her and she could just keep her own cell switched off and avoid all this until she was back in DC, consequences be damned.

"Ressler, _listen to me_. You don't need me to stop Ludd. If anything, in the state I'm in right now, I'll only slow you down. If Cooper wants to suspend me over this, I really couldn't care less. Besides," she said, her frustration making her flippant, "how much help could I possibly be? You don't put any stock in profiling and I'm not really ready to be a field agent, remember?"

Ressler gave an exasperated sigh. "Where the hell is Reddington in all this?"

Liz's jaw clenched; she counted to ten in her head and took a few slow, deep breaths through her nose to force herself to relax, otherwise she might have snapped at him and told him it was none of his damn business where Red was. It wouldn't be wise to hurt Ressler's ego or raise his hackles more than necessary when all she wanted was to be left alone.

"I don't have a clue where he is," she said. It wasn't exactly a lie. He left their hotel an hour ago citing unfinished business he had to attend to while they were in the area and she was too caught up with worry about her father to pry. "Does it really matter? He'll only talk to me anyway. He said he already gave you everything you need."

"Everything we need, my ass. He's bullshitting, biding his time."

"For what?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

Liz rolled her eyes, grateful Ressler couldn't see her. _You just keep thinkin', Butch. That's what you're good at._

She shook her head to clear the image of Red at nine years old trying to charm his way into his twelfth showing of _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_ after he spent all his pocket money and his mother refused to pay for him to see it again. She wondered if she was perhaps spending too much of her down time with him, watching old movies on Netflix and listening to him wax poetic about his experiences with them; it was bleeding over into her thought processes and she hoped it wasn't obvious to anyone else.

"Look, Ressler… all we're doing at this point is arguing in circles. You're not going to change my mind, Cooper's not going to change my mind; I'm here and I'm staying for the foreseeable future. For once, Reddington isn't pushing me to drop everything to be at his beck and call and I'm gonna take the time whether you like it or not."

"Fine. Take care of your dad, then. But the second Reddington decides to live up to his goddamn agreement, we're expecting to hear from you." The line went dead.

Liz shoved her phone into her pocket and blinked back frustrated tears. She wished she could take care of her dad, but it was easier said than done, especially when it seemed like he had every intention of going off like a wounded animal to die alone.

The doctors told her the only reason he perked up at all was because she was there. He put on a brave face for her, brushed off the pain, but she could see in his eyes how much he was fading. His oncologist gave him six weeks. She'd be surprised if he even lasted one.

She hated herself for thinking like that. One of them had to have hope he would make it and it certainly wasn't going to be him.

Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be Red, either. He wasn't being distant, per se, but she didn't know how to explain him to her dad and he didn't volunteer to come with her to the hospital regardless. More and more often since she got the phone call from Sam, she caught Red watching her when he didn't think she was looking, with a strange sadness in his eyes, his whole demeanor. It didn't feel like empathy. It felt like he was losing something, too.


	2. Sam Milhoan - Seeing Red

Sam Milhoan - Seeing Red

Ressler's phone call had only been the last layer of icing on a very frustrating cake.

The helplessness she felt about her father's condition alone was enough for her to be damn near close to climbing the walls at the hotel without Red to distract her. Combined with the restlessness that came with a lack of something productive to do, she flat out couldn't stand it another minute—she took a cab back to the hospital where she could at least pretend she was doing something useful.

Sam wouldn't be pleased at first—he sent her away to catch up on sleep and it was obvious she hadn't slept a wink—but he would come around. Perhaps she would read to him. He always liked that. She punched the button that would bring her to her father's floor and breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator doors slid shut.

When she turned the corner and had a clear line of sight into her father's room, she almost couldn't believe her eyes. All her plans fell away in an instant and in their place came a white hot anger. Red sat next to Sam's bed, chatting and laughing with him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Liz couldn't remember a time in her life when she felt more incensed, not even when Tom showed his true colors; somewhere deep down she had been expecting that, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. This… This was different.

It felt as though she was moving through quicksand, each step a struggle not to be pulled down, but for Red and Sam she swept into the room like a fast-moving storm, the change in atmosphere just as chilling and palpable. She watched Red's smile fade as he registered her presence, watched the realization that she had caught him there spread across his face.

"I thought you were staying in for the night," he said, dumbly.

"Is this what you call taking care of unfinished business?" Her voice rose an octave or two higher than usual in anger; it had a hint of the squeaky-whine she hated so much, the one that made her sound unsure instead of authoritative, and that only served to piss her off even more. She started to round the bed and Red stood reflexively, defensively.

Sam was more confused than anything else, clearly having trouble reconciling Liz's reaction with one an FBI agent _should_ have at finding number four on her own agency's most wanted list sitting at her father's bedside. It made sense that she would know of Raymond Reddington, The Concierge of Crime, but it made no sense that she wasn't trying to apprehend him, to detain him. It made no sense at all for her to argue with him like a wronged lover.

"It's all right, butterball. He's—He's an old friend…"

"Oh, he's an old friend, is he?" If Sam thought he was helping Red's case, he was sorely mistaken. "I'm not so happy with you right now either, Daddy. But you…" She shook her head in disbelief. "This really takes the cake. Please tell me this is the first time you've been here, that whenever I turn my back you haven't been—"

"It is," Red interrupted, his hands rising in an instinctive movement to show that he wasn't a threat. "It is the first time."

"Lizzy, I don't understand. You know each other?"

The hollow laughter that escaped her sounded slightly deranged even to her own ears.

"You know, I'm starting to think I don't know him at all."

"That's not true, Lizzy, you know that's not true."

"No, Red, I don't. How would I when every time I turn around there's another secret to be uncovered, another mystery to unravel? Mostly about you." She knew she was getting shrill, but she couldn't help it.

"Shh, please keep your voice down, Lizzy. The nurses—"

"Don't you even _think_ of shushing me, you bastard."

"You wouldn't want to be thrown out of your own father's hospital room."

Whatever angle Red should have chosen to appeal to her better judgement, that wasn't it. In his surprise, he let himself get backed into a corner, a mistake on his part that Liz took quick advantage of; she closed the remaining distance between them before he could register what she intended to do. Her fist connected solidly with his face and he blinked back tears from the pain, shaking his head to clear it.

"Jesus, Lizzy." He quickly rifled through his pockets for his handkerchief, but it wasn't enough to stem the flow of blood running from his nose; he sidestepped Liz and snatched up a gauze pad from the paraphernalia next to Sam's bed. She moved to lunge after him and he held up his free hand to keep her at a distance.

"Would you mind holding off until the bleeding slows down a little before you go in for the kill?"

She lifted her chin and held his gaze, defiant. She was grateful for her anger, because it was familiar, predictable, and much less terrifying to examine than the heartbreak she felt floating dangerously beneath the surface. She didn't want to believe Red was capable of betraying her, least of all like this. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. She also wanted to wring his neck.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Red, one I sure as hell hope doesn't involve you insinuating yourself into yet another area of my life for your fucking amusement."

"Please," he said, righting the chair he'd been sitting in and pushing it back towards Sam's bed. "I'll explain, just… please sit down."

She sat, her back stiff, and she could feel his hand linger on the chair behind her for a long moment before he moved away. He dragged an extra chair over from across the room and settled into it, crossing his legs in her direction and leaning heavily on the armrest closest to her, still trying to be near her despite her violent reaction to finding him there.

Liz felt his presence next to her like a shadow, even as she focused all of her attention on her fists clenched in her lap, her pink, aching knuckles. He reached out to touch her lightly on the arm so she would turn to face him, hesitant like he was afraid he'd provoke another punch.

"Sam and I have known each other for a long time, Lizzy. Since long before you met me. Long before you met him, actually."

"Is that…" She shot a quick glance at her father, who was watching their exchange intently. "Is that what you meant after Wujing?"

"To some extent, yes, but—"

"But you wish the answer were as simple as the question seems, I know." She ran her hands over her face and made a strangled, frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "Why do all the men in my life insist on lying to me?"

"Sam didn't lie to you," he said quietly. "He had no reason to think you would ever meet me; mentioning me would be pointless. As for myself, it was more a case of lying by omission."

"That's a big fucking omission. 'Oh, by the way, your father? Yeah, he and I go way back.' That didn't seem important to tell me at any point? Really?"

"It wasn't the right time."

"Oh, for God's sake! You want me to trust you and then you go and—"

Sam cleared his throat. The electric tension between the two of them broke with a nearly audible crackle. Red moved his hand to rest on her shoulder and her body sagged, leaning into his touch despite herself. She watched him sniffle cautiously, checking to see if his nose had stopped bleeding.

"Are you—?"

"I'll be fine. It's not broken. Believe me, I know the difference."

She gave the hand on her shoulder an apologetic squeeze and turned back to Sam. His eyes ping-ponged between her and Red with undisguised suspicion.

"Should I be signing you two up for couples counseling?" he asked. Sam's sarcasm always came out strongest when he was frustrated and annoyed, and there was an edge to his voice now that she hadn't heard since she was a teenager and he had found out about some of her more questionable extracurricular activities. _Oh, God_, she thought. _It's Omaha all over again._

"What the hell is going on here? I know I'm not at the top of my game, kids, but the way I'm reading the two of you, I think I have a pretty good idea and I'm not sure I like it."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, exchanging a quick glance with Red; he uncrossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, looking just as uncomfortable with the question as she was.

"You haven't called me kid in twenty years." Red's voice was somber, sentimental, and more than a little strained.

"Well, you finally lost your baby face. You're deflecting, Red. I deserve a straight answer from you and I think I've been real patient so far considering I'm living on borrowed time."

"Good luck with that. He's the king of evading questions."

"Well, I know that, butterball, and he knows that. I just haven't quite worked out why you know that."

If Sam had known Red for years, he likely knew exactly the sort of things he got up to, knew who and what he was, perhaps better than she did. There were only so many reasons why they would know each other, even fewer why he would still be walking free. She tried to weigh just how much she should explain against the possibility of being caught in a lie.

"We've been working together. For a few months now."

"Working together?" he repeated, dubious. An unspoken, 'Is that what they're calling it these days?' hung in the air, almost as clear as it would have been if he'd actually said it. She felt herself flush and Sam blanched, her reaction enough to confirm what he suspected.

He turned the full weight of his disappointment on Red, who subtly pressed himself further back in his chair. She was sure if Sam kept looking at him like that, he could actually make Red squirm. She felt a pang of sympathy; she'd been on the receiving end of that look enough times. She wondered now if maybe Red had as well.

"You 'got a chance to see her'? Here I was thinking that little speech was kinda strange, but I brushed it off same as I ever do—you've always been smitten with the _idea_ of Lizzy, I'm used to that, I just never thought it would get to the point where you would actually try to…" Sam would have looked green if he wasn't already so ashen. "If I had the strength, I'd punch you myself."

"Dad, it wasn't like that. He wasn't like that. He was… Well, I wouldn't call him a perfect gentlemen, but I was the one who made the first move."

"You said he insinuated himself into your life—"

"He did. He crossed a lot of lines, but he didn't cross that one. That was all me."

Despite her assurances, Sam still seemed hesitant to believe her; he turned to Red, whose expression was open and held no denial or obfuscation.

"I see you tried real hard to turn her down."

Red held his hands up in a sort of surrender. "She's a force of nature, Sam. I didn't stand a chance."

Liz reached out and took one of Red's hands in hers; he met her gaze with a twitch of a smile and squeezed her hand in return. She would have to examine her need to defend him in spite of her lingering hurt another time. For now, it felt like they should present a united front.

Sam eyed their clasped hands, a small furrow between his brows. When he spoke, he sounded calmer, lighter, like he was making a special effort to control his tone. "I know curiosity killed the cat and all, but I figure I have a couple spare lives to burn and I can't help wondering how the hell this all went down."

"It all comes back to Tom, really. You know the gist of what happened, but I couldn't go into much detail for obvious reasons. The truth is it wasn't exactly as out-of-left-field as I made it seem. Red had been trying to get me to see what Tom was since the day we started working together, but I couldn't let myself believe it until it was impossible to ignore. Once that finally happened, I sort of… snapped.

"I confronted him and we argued. It was a one-sided thing for the most part—he was… more than willing to let me unload a lot of confusion and frustration on him. I blamed him for my life falling apart, which was Tom's doing a helluva lot more than it was his, but… I sort of… attacked him. He wouldn't defend himself or fight back and everything just… escalated from there. As cliche as it sounds, one thing led to another and—" Red made a noise of protest. "What? You remember it differently?"

"Sweetheart, you had me when you punched a hole in my carotid."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You did _what_?"

"I stabbed him with a pen," she explained. "The day we met. It's kind of a long story."

Sam's shoulders began to shake and his face reddened as a horrible, choking, strangled sound ripped itself from his chest. Liz's stomach dropped and she and Red were at his side in an instant. It took much longer than usual to realize he was laughing. He couldn't seem to _stop_ laughing, but he was laughing all the same.

Tears streamed down his face as he tried to calm himself. Red offered him a sip of water and he took it gratefully, but waved him off after with a lingering wheezy laugh.

"What the hell is so funny?"

"The… the pen… is mightier… than the sword," he said, breathless. "How many people want you dead? Really, how many times has someone tried to kill you? Ten times? Twenty? That probably doesn't even scratch the surface." He shook his head and looked at them standing there tense and worried above him; his cheek muscles twitched as he tried to stave off another bout of laughter. "But somehow against all odds, you always—_always_—manage to come out on top. Then Lizzy comes along, shoves a BIC through your neck, and almost succeeds where they all failed—and you fall in love with her for it."

"Technically, it was a Parker," Red said lamely, holding his fingers to the tiny scar self-consciously.

"You're a twisted son of a bitch, Red, you know that?" Sam said. There was a fondness in his tone that belied his words. He was starting to unbend, bit by bit, as it became more obvious Liz could hold her own with Red. It did a lot to put Sam's mind at ease.

"I've always appreciated someone with the courage to be upfront with me no matter the situation. Whatever else it is, a pen in the neck is definitely honest."

"It wasn't exactly the wisest move on my part. A mysterious, dangerous man comes into my life and turns it upside down—I shouldn't have stabbed you, I should have been terrified of you."

"You never were afraid of me; you certainly proved it that day. It showed me who you are better than any file or second-hand information ever could. And as far as first dates go, it's not exactly the worst I've ever had."

"Courtship by way of attempted murder."

"Nobody would ever claim we were conventional."

* * *

Red and Liz stayed with Sam while he ate his bland hospital dinner. They shared stories about the cases they worked on together from Red's list—highly censored versions, of course—in hopes of distracting him long enough to get a full meal in him and, for the most part, they were successful. Hindsight made even the more harrowing cases seem exciting and, not for the first time, Liz wondered if she was becoming an adrenaline junkie at Red's side. Or, perhaps more likely, she was merely returning to her roots.

"Red managed to talk him down so well the guy offered to get us out of the country along with him. I don't know how he does it." She shook her head and sighed. "Sometimes it seems like his sense of self-preservation is only matched by the lengths he's willing to go to save my life."

A dark cloud settled over the three of them at her words; Sam's amusement faded and something strange passed between the two men.

"Hang on," she said, looking back and forth between them. "What just happened? I feel like I missed something."

Neither of them answered her. In fact, Sam's attention was focused so strongly on Red, it almost felt like she wasn't even in the same room.

"What if they find me, Red?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sam…" Red sat up straighter in his chair, warning clear in every line of his body; he was very much still aware of Liz's presence and she was in tune enough with his moods to recognize when he didn't want a conversation to continue.

"I can't do it. I can't spend the last few weeks of my life afraid that they'll find me. If they catch up to me now, I won't have the strength to resist; I'll tell them everything. You can't afford that."

"I'm sure Red has a safe house nearby," she said, glancing over at Red.

Red and Sam exchanged another indecipherable look; Sam blinked back tears and dropped his gaze, nodding so slightly she almost didn't see it.

"Yeah," Red answered, his voice rough. "Yeah, I do." He swallowed hard before he continued. "I'll go call in a few favors and send Dembe up to watch the room."

"I should go with him." She bent and kissed Sam's forehead. "I'll be back soon, Daddy."

* * *

Liz's cell phone buzzed less than thirty seconds after she turned it on—a new record. She checked the ID and heaved a heavy, exasperated sigh. She knew she should have left it off; Dembe wouldn't let anything happen to her dad while she and Red were gone. She braced herself and hit the talk icon.

"Keen."

"You wanna tell me why Reddington is in Nebraska with you?"

"Nice to hear from you, too, Ressler."

"Cut the crap, Keen. I knew you were hiding something, disappearing like that. What the hell are you and Reddington up to? Is your father even sick?"

"You're an ass, Ressler. Of course my father's sick, he's _dying_. Red offered to help get him into private hospice care and you know what? I'm gonna let him. But God forbid he does something positive, right? Obviously everything is black and white and criminals are all heartless beasts. We wouldn't want to upset your world-view, would we, Javert?" Liz fumed. Too bad Ressler already jumped off a goddamn bridge and survived with his cognitive dissonance intact. He was lucky she couldn't get her hands on him right now.

Ressler fell silent for a long while. When he spoke again, he sounded subdued. Not quite apologetic, but it was a near thing.

"How long are they giving your dad?"

"Six weeks. But I'm starting to think it won't be nearly that long. It feels like he's given up."

"I'm sorry, Keen."

"Yeah. Look, I have to get going," she said, watching Red wrap up his own conversation at the other end of the sidewalk. "We need to move him as soon as Red works out the logistics." She didn't wait for an answer before hanging up and powering the phone down yet again, hopefully for the last time while they were in Nebraska.

"So?" she asked, coming up to Red as he ended his call and slipped his phone into his pocket.

"We should be able to have him moved within the hour."

Her chest tightened painfully; she seized him by the back of the neck and pressed her lips to his in a sudden, fierce kiss. Red wasn't expecting it—it took him a moment longer than usual to return the kiss and when he did, it was with the restrained desperation of someone who hadn't thought he was going to have another chance to do so.

She straightened his lapels and tucked her hand inside his vest between two of the buttons, rubbing the material between her fingers. "Thank you for this."

Red twitched an uncomfortable-looking smile.

"It's the least I can do." He put his hand in the crook of her arm, but not to guide her the way he usually did; he trailed after her more than anything. She didn't really know what to make of it, but she lead him through the hospital lobby into the elevator regardless. He prodded the button for Sam's floor and leaned back against the wall, staring unfocused at the ceiling.

"Your father is the only person," he said, speaking haltingly, "who can still make me feel like the scrawny little silver-tongued punk from Boston who was too intelligent for his own good and lost his soul. I'm no stranger to living in the past, Lizzy, but I don't usually get stuck quite that far back." He took a slow, deep breath and swallowed reflexively. "The world will be a darker place without him."


End file.
